In the vastness where twilight caresses the river of oblivion, benevolent serpents coil about golden lilies, weaving melodies of transcendent delight. Their whisperings are dreams sculpted from rosettes of midnight dew, trailing like gossamer threads upon the sinuous breath of the wind.
Their songs, oh their luscious effulgence! Drenched in azure and vermilion, the yeasts of quietude ferment a harmony, paradoxically poised upon the tongue with both dainty joy and treacherous elixir of the vine-spirits.
Cloaked in reverberation, the dire star-folk arcane banners chart a course through effulgent oblivions, deploying the master notes of mellifluous gumption.